


blood, guts, and angel cake

by moonminghao



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, literally a hanahaki au.. so like.. lots of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonminghao/pseuds/moonminghao
Summary: soonyoung always knows when he is about to be sick.he feels it in his gut, tucked deep into his rib cage, painful and sharp, like there is fire spreading across his stomach. it flares up to his neck, then, to his head and his wrists and his hands, until all he can think about is how much it hurts; how much he wants it to stop, how desperately he wants to expel whatever it is that is burning him so badly.and the petals follow soon after.love is blind and deaf and dumb and soonyoung thinks it is killing him.





	blood, guts, and angel cake

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from teen idle by marina and the diamonds.
> 
> hanahaki disease is a fictional illness that causes the victim to cough up flower petals in response to their one sided love. it can only be cured by their feelings being reciprocated by the object of their affections. if this does not occur, the flower petals will eventually fill the victim's lungs, and they will die.

soonyoung can feel it coming.

(it starts in his gut, tucked deep into his rib cage, painful and sharp, like there is fire spreading across his stomach. it flares up to his neck, then, to his head and his wrists and his hands, until all he can think about is how much it hurts; how much he wants it to stop, how desperately he wants to expel whatever it is that is burning him so badly. 

he’ll stop dancing, then, or push away his plate at dinner or mutter that they can keep watching the movie without him as he excuses himself to the bathroom to kneel over the toilet.)

but in all fairness, it isn’t to hard to predict. 

(he knows before the physical signs, most days. 

chan will cosy up next to him, bright smile on his face, handsome and shining, and say something like: “minghao hyung’s dancing is just so cool!” or, “wow, the8 looks so handsome today…” sounding absolutely mystified, almost embarrassingly infatuated. 

and soonyoung will nod and smile and respond with something like, “ah, yes, minghao is always such a cool guy!” with not a trace of malice in his voice, and chan will nod, pleased, calmed by the notion that someone else can see how amazing minghao is. 

sometimes, chan won’t even pretend that it’s just admiration. he trusts soonyoung more than anyone in the world, trusts him enough that sometimes he’ll just sigh and mutter, “minghao is so lovely.” which even chan knows isn’t true, minghao is considerate and pretty but he’s harsh at the best of times, a little rough around the edges. 

it’s days like those where soonyoung will lock himself away, he won’t feel it rising within him yet but he is only anticipating the inevitable.) 

today, it’s more of a surprise than normal. 

(deep down inside, soonyoung knows that this means he’s getting worse. he won’t admit it to himself, can’t imagine what will happen when he loses control. what if it starts up while he's on stage?)

they are in the practice room, just performance unit for the day, helping soonyoung plot out choreography for jihoon’s latest beats, when junhui asks for a water break. the leader responds by telling them to take five, and retreats to the back table to scribble some more things in his notebook. soonyoung is serious and focused; for now all he can or wants to think about is dance, the thought of the whole of seventeen carrying out the plans that he creates. 

his concentration is disrupted, though, by the sound of chan’s laughter. it’s impossible to ignore, and a smile spreads across soonyoung’s face as his heart begins to ache. he thinks he could take on anything if it means he could just hear chan laugh, as stupid as he knows that is. 

he scans the room. junhui is leaning against the door, guzzling water at an alarming velocity and wiping away sweat with his own shirt. near the mirrors is chan, happy and smiling, and next to him is minghao, giving the confused giggle that he always does when he doesn’t quite understand something. 

chan leans into minghao for a split second, so their shoulders brush, just enough to make a rouge blush rise in the older boy’s face. minghao doesn’t move away. 

now, it doesn’t feel so much like an unfurling flame as it does a bolt of lightening, caustic and cruel. he doesn’t know whether it starts in his head or his stomach or his heart this time, but he does know he needs to get away quickly. he throws his pen down and all but runs to the nearest bathroom, shutting the door behind him. there are already flowers in his throat by the time he gets to the stall, and he’s retching soon enough. 

the petals are usually pink. it’s ironic, almost, how pretty the shade is. it reminds soonyoung of joshua’s favorite sweater, soft and subtle. 

today, however, his blood coats them so thoroughly that they look a deep, dark, red. rose colored, bleeding heart. 

soonyoung has had his ailment for months and it is still horrifically uncomfortable every single time. the petals hurt his throat on the way up and it does nothing to stop the pain in his chest or the splitting headache that always accompanies the vomit. it only temporarily assuages the feeling that he is being overridden by unnatural things. 

but he’s in so much blind agony at the moment that all he wants to do is a personal exorcism, he wants the evil out of him no matter how much it takes. he coughs up everything that rises, he heaves until he’s out of breath, sweating more than he would at the end of a long day of dance practice. 

even still it’s not enough. he can still hear channie’s laugh in the back of his mind, feel the fucking petals sitting at the bottom of his stomach, and before he can even think it through he is shoving fingers into the back of his throat. a mixture of blood and flowers and bile answer violently. 

“soonie?” a voice, so quiet and soft it can only belong to junhui, calls out. soonyoung swallows down a few petals and wipes his chin, turning to see the elder crouched down to be on the same level, concern etched on his features.

it takes a moment for soonyoung to be able to speak, and when he does his voice is abrasively hoarse. “i wasn’t making myself vomit.” he says, even if its a lie. the last thing he needs is junhui going to seungcheol with a bulimia accusation. 

“i know.” junhui holds up a handful of petals. “you left these in the hallway.” he mumbles with a sad, sad smile. 

and suddenly, soonyoung is weeping. his eyes had already been watering from throwing up so much but now he is undoubtedly crying, face scrunched up and eyes screwed shut. junhui surges forward to hold him, wrapping his arms around him in a way so comforting that it must be otherworldly. 

“it’s alright, shh, it’s alright.” junhui sounds surprised, but still so tranquil and gentle that it sends soonyoung into a harsher set of sobs, and soon he’s apologizing for the flowers falling down the front of junhui’s shirt. 

once soonyoung calms down, he leans back against the bathroom wall. junhui sits next to him, rests a head on his shoulder. 

they sit together for a long while. junhui had already texted chan and minghao to tell them to go back to the dorms, so they are allowed to be alone. soonyoung is impossibly exhausted. 

“chan would never mean to hurt you.” junhui says after a while, murmurs into soonyoung’s neck. 

“can i be honest with you?” soonyoung smiles. “that’s probably the worst part. the kid is literally killing me and he doesn’t even know. he would probably be horrified if he found out.” then he laughs, like something is funny. 

“have you… told him? that you love him, i mean.” maybe it’s the seemingly dire situation that causes junhui to be so uncharacteristically serious and straightforward, the typical sense of immaturity nowhere to be found. 

“no, of course not, jun. he trusts me like an older brother. this wouldn’t be happening to me if he felt the same.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“you don’t need to apologize. this is my entirely my fault.” 

junhui falls silent after that.

“hmm. i suppose you must just pity me, junnie, since everybody in the whole wide world is in love with you.”

“not minghao.” junhui spits back instinctively. 

(it doesn’t show on his face how horrified he is at his own words. at the verbal recognition that yes, he is in love, and no, minghao is not. at least not with him. 

junhui doesn’t tell soonyoung about last friday, when he’d begun to choke on air, sputtering and coughing until a lavender petal fell down onto his lap.)

“ah, look at us, bested by our own dongsaengs.”

“what an unfortunate fate.” junhui says lightheartedly, a joke that doesn’t sit very well with either of them. 

soonyoung nods. 

that night, soonyoung has another fit. he had fallen asleep in wonwoo’s bed, curled up next to him for the extra comfort, when he is jolted awake by the burning, choking feeling, familiar in the worst of ways. he had probably been dreaming of chan, like he always is. 

so he stumbles to the kitchen sink and runs the tap to mask the sounds.

and it still hurts so badly. even with it being his second time that day watching the bloodsoaked petals drip down the drain, it still feels so much like he is on _fire_ , feels so certain that this will be his downfall, that he begins to wonder,

would it be wrong to believe you are immorally and irrevocably in love with something heavenly? is it selfish to consider oneself icarus?

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in like an hour lolol. will probably continue it. 
> 
> (im on tumblr @moon-minghao uwu)


End file.
